it has almost been two months, this is horrible, love, you say, your naked thighs are there and i haven’t been able to touch them, and when you eat toast and little crumbs settle by your lips, i can’t take them or kiss you and the madness in the sky is blooming feverishly, only you can’t tell because the colors only come in navy and grey. so every day your sky is grey, or the gritty navy comes too quickly, you’d only just be pressing your body into the window seat when the 5 o’clock lemon light- really, just a greyish hue- passed you at the dinner table and suddenly there were stars in the sky and you walked right back to your phone, picked it up and called me. you’re saying all this quickly, maybe even frantically and my hair is nearly in the blankets, my face is so tired that i put myself to bed early but then i rest my head to this song or i pull another paper out or a light bulb or i light the candles. if i were to loose you, the first thing we’d do before loosing is make love; it reminds me of the time that all this madness first started and after a night and a half of blue lights and the weepiest songs thumping on the walls we met and surrendered our eye lashes at the same time so that our kiss was synchronized and maybe even the last, until we realized that leaving after that was not easy, and so we’re still right there, before that kiss. the lemon-grey light does a double-take. i say, if we were to loose each other we’d make love first, but its nearly impossible, two thousand and some miles between us so we certainly can’t loose it yet. another ingenious song presses its evocative body all over me and i’m overwhelmed, staring at your sunglasses and pushing every single light switch at the same time.

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